Before Serena. Before Venus. Before Naomi and Coco. There was Althea Gibson — the woman who cracked tennis wide open.

In 1950, Gibson became the first Black player to compete at what we now call the U.S. Open. Seven years later, she wasn’t just competing; she was collecting trophies. Back-to-back U.S. Nationals titles. Back-to-back Wimbledon titles. Eleven Grand Slam championships in all. In an era where she wasn’t even welcome in most of the clubs she dominated, Gibson showed the world that greatness couldn’t be segregated.

She was the original blueprint. The Jackie Robinson of tennis. The reason why a Black girl from Compton could one day rise to be the greatest of all time. And yet, for decades, her name rarely made it into the highlight reels. Her story, as powerful as it is, was treated like a footnote in a sport that didn’t know what to do with a Black woman who refused to be invisible.

Gibson’s story has always been bigger than the stats. It’s about stepping onto courts where she wasn’t wanted, facing opponents who weren’t sure whether to shake her hand, and playing in front of crowds who weren’t sure whether to clap. She won anyway. And then, instead of becoming a household name, she was pushed to the margins of tennis history — overshadowed by the comfort of stories about Ashe, King, Federer, Serena.

It’s not that those legends don’t deserve their shine. They do. But Gibson is the foundation. Without her, the house of modern tennis doesn’t stand. And it’s taken the U.S. Open far too long to say that out loud.

This year, that silence is breaking. The 2025 U.S. Open has dedicated its entire tournament to Gibson’s memory. Finally.

The tributes are everywhere:

• 40,000 Marvel comic books featuring Gibson as a superhero distributed to fans.
• A tribute video airing on ESPN before the first night’s matches.
• On her birthday, August 25, fans receiving pins with Gibson’s image.
• The Florida A&M University marching band — her HBCU — opening a night session with the sound and spirit that raised her.
• And everywhere on the grounds, bold artwork inspired by Gibson’s silhouette — designed by Melissa Koby, the first Black theme artist in U.S. Open history, who created the piece as if she were honoring an ancestor.

Even Gibson’s family and players who stand on her shoulders will be front and center, invited into the President’s Suite on opening day. In a sport that once wouldn’t let her through the front door, she now owns the room.

This isn’t just nostalgia. It’s an education. It’s tennis finally saying her name, loudly, to a generation who may not know that before Coco Gauff lifted that U.S. Open trophy, it was Gibson who made that moment possible.

The U.S. Open has branded this year around “breaking barriers.” That’s not just a tagline; it’s Gibson’s life. Her legacy is the proof that barriers can be broken — and that when they are, the game changes forever.

But let’s be clear: this celebration is not a favor. It’s not charity. It’s a correction. Althea Gibson should have been immortalized decades ago. She should have been in the textbooks, the murals, the tennis centerpieces right alongside Ashe and King. The fact that it’s taken 75 years for the U.S. Open to dedicate a tournament to her says less about her and more about how institutions too often ignore the contributions of Black women until they can’t anymore.

The truth is simple: every time we talk about tennis, Althea Gibson’s name should be in the first breath. Not the second, not the side note, not the afterthought. The sport is what it is because she had the audacity to step on court when the world was stacked against her.

So yes, this year’s U.S. Open finally got it right. But honoring Althea Gibson can’t just be a one-time thing. It has to be woven into the permanent story of tennis — because without her, there is no story.

Before Ashe, before Serena, before the new generation of champions: there was Althea. And the game has been living in her shadow ever since.